


Cursum perficio (My Journey Ends Here)

by lunasenzanotte



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Ancient Greece, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Anal Sex, Ancient Greece, Ancient History, Character Death, Dubious Consent, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extremely Dubious Consent, Historical, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, M/M, Mystery Character(s), Oral Sex, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Violence, Slavery, Soldiers, Stockholm Syndrome, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-20
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-15 15:55:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4612611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunasenzanotte/pseuds/lunasenzanotte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ancient Greece. David Silva is one of the slaves being held in a military camp for the pleasure of the soldiers. David Villa is a soldier of the enemy’s army.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cursum perficio (My Journey Ends Here)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt at footballkink2. I wrote this at about 3 am when I couldn't sleep, so don't judge.

_War is the father of all, the king of all ... he turns some into slaves and sets others free.  
\- Heraclitus_

 

David doesn‘t remember what freedom felt like, but he imagines it. He imagines the smell of it, so very different from the smell of leather, bronze, fire and horses, the smell of the military camp. Freedom smells like mint and lemons, like morning breeze, resin, and rain. It feels like the touch of wet grass and cold water and wind in his hair and sounds like birds and olive trees whispering.

  
He‘s traveled the land and still the camp is all that he knows. He hasn‘t seen the land from the horseback like the soldiers either. His feet know the land by touch, they know every stone and hole for the soles of his sandals are worn and thin. He knows the reddish soil that turns water in liquid resembling blood when he washes it off his skin. He knows the merciless sun that turns his skin darker and his clothes whiter.

But most of all, he knows the dim light of the small tent he shares with other slaves, the sounds of the camp, the heat, the smell of animal skins and incense that is supposed to repel insects, and the steps and voices of the soldiers.

  
He doesn‘t know all of them because the _mora_  is big and the camp almost resembles a city, and he only goes as far as his chain allows him to go. He knows those that know him, those that like him and use him. He knows their tents and their makeshift beds, knows their voices and steps well enough to recognize them even when it‘s dark and they are still outside the tent. Sometimes it‘s someone he fears, sometimes relief washes over him when the person walks in to take him for an hour or two, rarely for the night because soldiers need to rest before battles, and a battle is never too far away.

  
There is one soldier that reminds David of a bear, because of his size, the way he walks, and the way he grunts when he pounds into him. He never speaks much and isn‘t creative in bed either. Usually, he just grips David‘s hips and lifts him up, impaling him on his massive shaft over and over again, like David is a feather. But he is one of the kindest ones as well. Even though he‘s rough, he always slicks up his member with a copious amount of oil, and sometimes, when he is not too horny or drunk, he prepares David hastily before entering him. And when he is done, he doesn‘t drag David back by his chain, but he scoops him up and carries him instead, moving slowly and somewhat clumsily, like a real bear. One day David tells him that he calls him Bear, and the soldier laughs almost kindly and says that it is a good name for a man.

  
Another one, not much taller than David, with dark eyes that always look somehow sad and face that looks young and fresh when shaven and worn and mature when not, likes it when David takes him in his mouth. It took him some time to get used to it, not to the actual act but to taking the initiative, because the others never want it, they prefer to simply take David and all he needs to do is to lay there. But this soldier is different. When David dares to look up at him, he always looks like he is dreaming, his eyes hazy and unfocused, like he is in a different world.

  
Then there is a young boy with a divine face and merry eyes, and he is always gentle with David. He enters him slowly and carefully and takes care not to crush him underneath his body that, despite his boyish appearance, is already the body of a man. David likes to watch his eyes flutter shut and throw his head back when he enters him, and sometimes he longs to touch the hair that looks like Apollo himself planted kisses on it until it turned gold in some places.

  
But not all of them are kind, and there are some whose steps make David wish he could fly away like the frightened birds he sometimes sees in the trees that line the roads they take on their endless journeys.

  
The commander, a tall man with a stern face, rarely seeks the company of slaves, but when he does, he always chooses David. Like the Bear, he is a man of few words, but there is no kindness in him. If he says anything, it’s to call David names. Like he despises himself for his needs and to feel a bit better, he needs to blame someone else. So he blames David and punishes him for something that isn’t his fault. But he is a slave, so whatever his masters say is his fault, is his fault by default.

  
Another one is a soldier with quite a bad reputation even among his companions, ruthless killer on the battlefield and merciless torturer behind the curtains. He looks older than he really is, he has protruding ears and dark, unpleasant face that scares everyone before he even speaks. He likes to tie David’s hands to a pole and beat him with whatever he has on hand, a riding crop, a bridle, a stick. David has learned not to cry as well as he has learned to hide his face from the lashes.

  
And there is the tall and handsome one, with golden hair that resembles a lion’s mane and a face that looks like it was carved by Aphrodite herself, except that he is a rather cruel gift from the goddess. He doesn’t need to touch David to make him suffer and he still haunts David’s dreams.

 

~ ~ ~

  
The nights before the battles are the worst. The soldiers pass the slaves between each other almost as swiftly as they pass the wine the other nights, sometimes not even bothering to retire to their tents, having them right there with the other soldiers sitting around the fire. Their minds are already set on combat and they are twice as rough in bed.

  
David feels a wave of relief wash over him when the boy with merry eyes sets his eyes on him. He scrambles to his feet almost eagerly, not for the prospect of being taken, but out of fear of being taken by someone much worse. The boy leads him to his tent and David prays to Achelois as he always does. Sometimes it helps, sometimes she is deaf to his pleas.

  
Suddenly a shadow falls on the ground in front of them and when David dares to lift his eyes, he is looking at the commander. In the light of flames he looks even taller and more menacing, his unshaven face wild and merciless. “This one is mine tonight,” he barks at the boy. He pushes him and the boy stumbles back. Not daring to talk back to the commander, he looks at David instead, apologizing with his eyes. David forgives him. It’s not like he could save him anyway.

  
The commander pushes him on the bed. David scrambles to a better position while the commander takes off his clothes. His legs tense slightly as the commander parts them. David never fights back when they take him, although he cries and screams sometimes. They don’t mind it. Some of them even like it. He closes his eyes when the commander pushes a finger inside him and twists it around a couple times before adding a second one. He doesn’t want to make a sound, grateful that although dry, the commander at least stretches him. Then he feels his knees being pushed up nearly to his chest and suddenly the commander shoves himself deep inside David without warning.

  
David’s screams fade into begging and sobs, and then nothing as exhaustion takes over. His cock is limp all the time and he just writhes on the bed weakly. The commander flips him over and fucks him ruthlessly from behind, jostling his entire form. David keeps thinking of mint, lemons, and rain, of freedom. It’s the only thing that keeps him alive, that prevents him from hanging himself on his chain.

  
The commander rolls over on the bed next to David right after he comes inside him, and only moments later he starts snoring loudly. David doesn’t know what to do, he wasn’t allowed to leave, but he is sure that he cannot sleep in the commander’s bed either. Finally, he settles for a compromise and sleeps on the floor.

  
The sun is not yet up when the camp comes back to life, the familiar sounds of soldiers getting ready for battle waking David up. The commander is already wearing his armor. “You’ll wait for me here, bitch,” he growls, attaching David’s chain to the pole in the middle of the tent and tying his hands behind his back. “I’ll take you again after the victory.”

 

~ ~ ~

  
A day passes by and the camp remains deserted. David waits. He doesn’t try to escape, ignores the hunger and pain from last night. He’s felt worse.

  
Nyx covers the land with her black veil and he is still alone. He tries rattling his chain, but the sound only scares him more. The silence and darkness eventually lull him to sleep.

  
Finally, a soldier enters the tent. David doesn’t know him, and when he looks at him more closely, he realizes that he can’t know him.

  
His armor isn’t made of metal, it’s only leather. For a moment, David compares it to the heavy breastplates he remembers the soldiers putting on, and marvels at the courage it has to take to go to war almost unprotected. Then the awe is replaced with fear as the stranger pulls out his sword and approaches David. Before he can start begging for his life, there is a snap and his hands are free. The soldier looks at him for a moment, his face almost intimately close to David’s, before he gets up and walks to the pole. The chair clatters to the floor.

  
David keeps looking up at the man, at his clean but unshaven face and messy hair. He is beautiful, beautiful in a frightening way like all unknown things are.

  
“Come, boy,” the man says, the accent on his words heavy and foreign, and offers David his hand. “Don’t be afraid. Come.”

  
David takes his hand like mesmerized, like the soldier is coming from another world and can take him there. It feels like he’s walking on clouds, his feet unsteady and too slow. They are almost at the entrance when David stops abruptly. “I can’t,” he whispers. “I can’t, the commander...”

  
“He is not coming back,” the stranger says. “None of them is.”

  
It feels strange to think about it, and despite being just found, David feels lost, and he knows that maybe in the dead of the night he will shed a tear for them, for the Bear, for the sad one and for the boy with merry eyes.

  
It’s day outside and the sun stings David’s eyes. The camp is alive again, but those passing them by are all strangers. They are shouting at each other in a language David doesn’t understand while they are tearing down the tents, turning them around, taking whatever they deem worth taking. The soldier gives him an encouraging smile and then he leaves him, joining his companions.

  
A boy much younger than David is sitting on the ground, his shoulder bandaged, but he is smiling nevertheless, not only with his lips but his black, somehow impish eyes are smiling as well, and David thinks that this boy that he would have considered enemy yesterday is the very depiction of freedom. He almost thinks that if he came close enough, David could smell mint and lemons from his hair.

  
He sees the other slaves run out of the half-destroyed camp as soon as their chains fall to the ground. He doesn’t follow them, holding onto the remnants of the only place he’s ever known.

  
The soldier appears by his side again, surprised to see him there. “You can go wherever you want to go,” he says. “Now you are free.”

  
David looks at him with wide eyes. “Where would I go?” he whispers.

  
“You can go home.”

  
“I don’t have home. This was my home for years.”

  
The soldier keeps looking at him for a while like he is thinking about what to say. He doesn’t say anything. He just takes David around the shoulders and leads him away from the fallen tents.

 

~ ~ ~

  
They ride for days. David doesn’t know how to ride a horse, and the soldier doesn’t let him walk, although he insists that he can. He travels in a carriage, with the other loot they took from the camp. It somehow feels appropriate, but confusing as well. The soldiers never touch him. They look at him, acknowledge him, feed him, talk to him in the language he doesn’t understand and in gestures, but they never touch him.

  
When he wakes up one day, the air smells different, it is fresher and cooler. When David opens his eyes and peeks out from the carriage, all he can see is blue. It’s almost like the sky fell down, but this blue is slightly different and it’s moving. Suddenly David knows what it is. The sea.

  
The boy with impish eyes runs into the waves, splashing around and laughing. The older soldiers exchange somehow condescending smiles, like they are above such acts, but they remember what it felt like to have this fire inside. David doesn’t realize that he is smiling too until he notices the boy looking at him, holding out his hand, inviting David to join him.

  
David looks at the soldier that saved him before remembering that he no more needs a permission. He enters the water hesitantly, taking the boy’s hand. A harsh pull and he ends up face first in the water. Only when he finds his footing again, wet and sputtering, and looks at the boy’s face, he understands that it wasn’t a mean trick. It was a joke. And for the first time in eternity, David laughs.

  
The waves are washing him clean, washing away the dust and sweat, the smell of the camp, the touches of people gone but still lingering on his skin. He splashes the water in his face, surprised at the way it stings his eyes. When he looks to the shore, the soldier that David has started to call _his_  soldier in his mind, is looking at them, smiling kindly.

  
David sits on the wet sand and shakes his head, drops flying from his hair. “How far is your land?” he asks the soldier. “Where is it?”

  
“Across the sea,” the man replies, pointing his finger, but all David can see is blue.

  
“How are we going to get there?”

  
“On a ship.”

  
David falls silent, watching the soldier seize the black-eyed boy by the arm as he gets out of the water, checking on the puncture wound in his shoulder like a father would check on his son. When he sees that it didn’t open again, he shoves the boy forward gently. It’s probably meant to show that he is proud of him.

  
“You don’t have to come with us,” the man says then. His Greek is getting better day by day, like he knew it once and forgot it with the lack of use. “But if you come with us...”

  
David holds his breath. He knew that there would be a condition, he knew nothing was free, and he is ready to do anything. All the pain in the world is a price he is willing to pay. What he fears is being left behind, alone.

  
“If you come with us, it will be as a free man,” the soldier says. “You don’t belong to us, you belong with us. We don’t own you. Do you understand?”

  
David blinks. “Who owns me then?”

  
The man kneels next to him and takes David’s face in his hands. It’s such a gentle gesture that David’s eyes almost flutter shut with pleasure. “You own yourself,” he says. “You and nobody else. You are free to go wherever you want to go, do whatever you want to do, love whoever you want to love.”

  
David lets the words sink in and then he nods, daring to smile a little. He knows well who he wants to love.

 

~ ~ ~

  
When the ship leaves the shore behind, David doesn’t look back. It isn’t a beginning of another journey, it is the end.

 

His journey ends here.

**Author's Note:**

> \- I imagined various players as the soldiers, but I decided to leave it up to the readers’ imagination/guessing. Actually, I might give out prizes if you can guess one of the players. EDIT: The answer is hidden in the comments if you want to know.
> 
> \- I based Villa’s army off the Persians and the one of Silva’s captors off the Spartans. However, I’m not referring to any battle or war in particular.
> 
> \- A mora was a Spartan military unit of about 600 men.
> 
> \- Achelois was a minor goddess of the moon, her name translates as “she who washes pain away”.
> 
> \- The language used in Persia (or the Achaemenid Empire) at that time was most likely Aramaic, but there are proofs that some bureaucratic correspondence was held in Greek. So if Villa was somehow more educated than his companions, it is possible that he would know some basic Greek.


End file.
